My
last grandparent is gone. There's a shift now. I'm officially in the
middle. I am mother and I am daughter, but no longer granddaughter.
Grandma had told me stories of growing up in California and how her mom, Arlene Browne, would take her and her little sister to a horse track to watch the horses race. One race, her mom bet on a horse named Sweet Arlene and she won first place.
She told me about meeting a handsome football player at the school diner. Then Pearl Harbor was bombed. She told me about how her father would have to walk the streets to make sure the town was following the new curfew rules and how everything would be dark once the sun set. Lights that filled Monterey Bay...now completely dark. That horse track near her home no longer hosted races, it became a Japanese Concentration camp. When school started back, her Japanese American class mates were gone with no explanations. And that handsome football player now wore a uniform and would be gone for years.
As life continued during the war, she became a young woman and was even engaged twice, calling off both engagements. She laughed and admitted to me that the second engagement was more about her enjoyment of having a diamond ring on her finger. She told me about the evening when a current boyfriend was bringing her home after a date. He walked her inside and just sitting on the kitchen counter, with a grin on his face, was that handsome soldier. She said she remembers screaming and forgetting every thing else, including that poor fellow who was clearly no longer a boyfriend. She said they stayed in that kitchen and talked for hours. That soldier's sister had known these two would marry and had kept a ring while he was away at war. After years of jumping out of planes into enemy territory, storming foreign shores and fighting in the trenches, he did indeed return. They married a year later and she walked down the aisle in a dress made with part of his parachute.
They would live with her parents, while he built their first home.
It wasn't long before she was pregnant. While largely pregnant, she had decided she didn't like the color of her new kitchen and was set on doing something about it herself. While climbing a step stool to paint, her water broke.
A surprise awaited them at the hospital. She delivered not one son, but two. There was some shock and fainting and then some rallying of friends and family to gather two of everything. Her twin sons were brought home to a two-colored kitchen. Eleven years later, a surprise daughter. And her family was complete.
A move across the country and a new life in Georgia.
Here's where my own story intertwines with hers. Her presence is woven into every single part of my life.
Every holiday or special occasion, she was there. But also everything in between. When we would spend the night at her house, she would wake us up singing, "rise and shine and give God the glory, glory..." She would let me mix all the different types of cereal she had and eat them out of a mixing bowl for breakfast. We got to eat macaroni and cheese for lunch on TV trays while watching Nickelodeon. Afternoons spent at her neighborhood pool where she would pack Mondo squirt drinks that were gone in 2 sips but felt like such a luxury. And when she would take us to see a movie in the theater, in a big straw purse she would sneak baggies of Grandpa's homemade popcorn because it was way better then what you could buy there. There were countless days spent on Grandpa's pontoon boat, wrapped up in her arms to stay warm on the ride back to their dock. She baked me oatmeal raisin cookies before every camp or trip I went on and wrote me letters while I was gone. And it wasn't officially my birthday until she called and sang to me.
I saw her and my grandfather love each other well. Service, grace and laughter filled their marriage and their home. I watched her become a widow too soon, but carry on with strength and continue to hold family first. My entire life was witness to her teaching and serving and putting others first.
I got to see her fall in love with the man I married and celebrate our wedding. She got to meet and hold all of my daughters, which I am eternally grateful for.
My knowledge of her, is of being my Grandma Grant. But the glimpses of stories and pictures into her life before that title, have always intrigued me. I know, as with all of humanity, her life was filled with valleys and dark nights and struggles and pain and heartbreak. I know she didn't like to focus on those things. I know she wasn't perfect but I know she knew how to love people. I know that there is no way for me to grasp all of the life she lived in her 94 years. But I will forever hold dear the knowledge that 53 days before her last breath earth side, she was surrounded by her children and grandchildren and great grandchildren while we celebrated her birthday. I got to watch her while she sat holding her daughter's daughter's daughter and prayed that I will one day have a chance to know what that feels like.
A life well lived indeed.
Grandma had told me stories of growing up in California and how her mom, Arlene Browne, would take her and her little sister to a horse track to watch the horses race. One race, her mom bet on a horse named Sweet Arlene and she won first place.
She told me about meeting a handsome football player at the school diner. Then Pearl Harbor was bombed. She told me about how her father would have to walk the streets to make sure the town was following the new curfew rules and how everything would be dark once the sun set. Lights that filled Monterey Bay...now completely dark. That horse track near her home no longer hosted races, it became a Japanese Concentration camp. When school started back, her Japanese American class mates were gone with no explanations. And that handsome football player now wore a uniform and would be gone for years.
As life continued during the war, she became a young woman and was even engaged twice, calling off both engagements. She laughed and admitted to me that the second engagement was more about her enjoyment of having a diamond ring on her finger. She told me about the evening when a current boyfriend was bringing her home after a date. He walked her inside and just sitting on the kitchen counter, with a grin on his face, was that handsome soldier. She said she remembers screaming and forgetting every thing else, including that poor fellow who was clearly no longer a boyfriend. She said they stayed in that kitchen and talked for hours. That soldier's sister had known these two would marry and had kept a ring while he was away at war. After years of jumping out of planes into enemy territory, storming foreign shores and fighting in the trenches, he did indeed return. They married a year later and she walked down the aisle in a dress made with part of his parachute.
They would live with her parents, while he built their first home.
It wasn't long before she was pregnant. While largely pregnant, she had decided she didn't like the color of her new kitchen and was set on doing something about it herself. While climbing a step stool to paint, her water broke.
A surprise awaited them at the hospital. She delivered not one son, but two. There was some shock and fainting and then some rallying of friends and family to gather two of everything. Her twin sons were brought home to a two-colored kitchen. Eleven years later, a surprise daughter. And her family was complete.
A move across the country and a new life in Georgia.
Here's where my own story intertwines with hers. Her presence is woven into every single part of my life.
Every holiday or special occasion, she was there. But also everything in between. When we would spend the night at her house, she would wake us up singing, "rise and shine and give God the glory, glory..." She would let me mix all the different types of cereal she had and eat them out of a mixing bowl for breakfast. We got to eat macaroni and cheese for lunch on TV trays while watching Nickelodeon. Afternoons spent at her neighborhood pool where she would pack Mondo squirt drinks that were gone in 2 sips but felt like such a luxury. And when she would take us to see a movie in the theater, in a big straw purse she would sneak baggies of Grandpa's homemade popcorn because it was way better then what you could buy there. There were countless days spent on Grandpa's pontoon boat, wrapped up in her arms to stay warm on the ride back to their dock. She baked me oatmeal raisin cookies before every camp or trip I went on and wrote me letters while I was gone. And it wasn't officially my birthday until she called and sang to me.
I saw her and my grandfather love each other well. Service, grace and laughter filled their marriage and their home. I watched her become a widow too soon, but carry on with strength and continue to hold family first. My entire life was witness to her teaching and serving and putting others first.
I got to see her fall in love with the man I married and celebrate our wedding. She got to meet and hold all of my daughters, which I am eternally grateful for.
My knowledge of her, is of being my Grandma Grant. But the glimpses of stories and pictures into her life before that title, have always intrigued me. I know, as with all of humanity, her life was filled with valleys and dark nights and struggles and pain and heartbreak. I know she didn't like to focus on those things. I know she wasn't perfect but I know she knew how to love people. I know that there is no way for me to grasp all of the life she lived in her 94 years. But I will forever hold dear the knowledge that 53 days before her last breath earth side, she was surrounded by her children and grandchildren and great grandchildren while we celebrated her birthday. I got to watch her while she sat holding her daughter's daughter's daughter and prayed that I will one day have a chance to know what that feels like.
A life well lived indeed.
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